At The Feet Of Saints
--
In this sacred space
People leave offerings
At the feet of saints
Like the ones we placed
Many years ago
I was reckless then
And we both knew better
But we never knew when
We would meet again
Or how to make it so
So we used this place
To trade sacred hearts
And ask for grace
In lieu of the embrace
That we had to forego
I see beads of glass
Left here by the faithful
After Novenas and Mass
And though time has passed
Memory casts a faint glow
I forgive us both now
And my life has evolved
But I remember how
What we could not allow
Made us both let go
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Thanks for the cool bag, Kelly!
3 July 2026
Last night I stayed up until 3 AM listening to Confessions 2 by Madonna on repeat. I have NEVER witnessed an artistic rebirth like this before. 44 years into her career, Madonna has delivered a definitive pop masterpiece. Confessions 2 will go down in music history as her magnum opus. Start to finish, this arc of songs carries all of the depth, edge and insight that many of us always knew she was capable of delivering… and she’s doing this at age 67. Ageists, misogynists and haters can have a seat. Several seats, in fact. All expectations have been surpassed and crushed. The entire timeline has just shifted. THIS is the Madonna (and the sound) the world needs now. Everybody go back to the dance floor. Nature is healing. Madonna has worked it all out for us.
Can you name the movie being quoted here?
4th Of July 1976 / 2026
At left is a photo of me (age 3) at my grandparents’ backyard Bicentennial party. Though I was very young, I have vivid memories of celebrating America’s 200th birthday. I was surrounded by family as we spent the day eating grilled hot dogs, fruit salad from a watermelon bowl and Flying Saucer ice cream sandwiches from Carvel. We enjoyed night swimming and games of Marco Polo (with me squeezed into a vinyl Wacky Packages innertube). I watched neighborhood fireworks (totally illegal) from the protective lap of one of the older kids from across the street (Tina? Camille?) next to a freshly painted red, white and blue fire hydrant… the work of my Aunt Susan and cousin Lizzy (who were double trouble and tons of fun). Many people did this to hydrants and telephone poles in Staten Island as well as other boroughs of NYC (and that paint was visible for decades). The Bicentennial spirit was alive. There was music, laughter, pride and a sense of merriment that day. All of the aforementioned would permeate all of my grandparents’ 4th of July parties for many years to come and I loved every one of them.
I’m grateful to have been born into a loving family and I’m proud to be the product of two distinctly different spaces (New York City and suburban New Jersey) that informed my identity and career. I can also say that I have benefited from the educational and cultural advantages that The American Experience has offered me. However, as of late, this sentiment is also layered with considerable conflict. Simultaneously, the unifying spirit that fueled the nation’s Bicentennial in 1976 seems conspicuously absent from the landscape in 2026.
At right is a photo of me 50 years later. While approaching a shop window yesterday, I found myself reflected in (and dwarfed by) a giant American flag. The dynamics and scale of this view activated some complex feelings as I saw myself unwittingly superimposed upon a symbol that (in its ubiquity throughout my early life) carried a simple message. It represented freedom, liberty and opportunity. Sadly, in recent years, a certain faction has co-opted, coded and (at times) weaponized it against people from other cultures, people who are here seeking asylum and even people who are engaged in the naturalization process for U.S. citizenship.
Here’s the other wrinkle in the star spangled fabric… It has also become weaponized against Americans themselves. This includes people who don’t identify as Christian, people of color, people who value multicultural representation in education and the arts and, yes… the LGBTQIA+ community (which I am a member of).
Fifty years on, that boy in the photo at left is a 53 year old man who, on America’s 250th birthday, is saddened by the violations of basic human rights that are present in his country today. I am saddened by how our country is perceived (due to actions at home and abroad) by other nations. Though I am disheartened and disgusted, I do not despair. I STILL believe that a more peaceful and prosperous America is possible for all of us. To be clear, I would like for others to be able to (if they so choose) share in the advantages and opportunities that this country has afforded myself, my family and many of my friends.
I would also like to add the following… No matter who you are or how you identify, remember that NOBODY has the right to marginalize you. NOBODY has the right to put you at the back of the bus. NOBODY has the right to gatekeep opportunity from you. NOBODY has the right to claim your body as their property. NOBODY has the right to invalidate your identity. Independence is a state of mind and on this, America’s Semiquincentennial, I wish everyone peace, freedom and prosperity. Despite the volatility of the current climate and its many challenges, I truly believe that a better world awaits us. Stay hopeful, stay illuminated and keep shining your light. Oh… and PLEASE be careful with the fireworks, folks.
Love, CDM
When it's 101 degrees, Depeche Mode's 101 is the ONLY album to play.
Opening line of dialogue in Blue Film.
Intense, disturbing at points and very well acted.
Shallow River
Another Shallow River
I don't resonate with this palette at all, but it's an interesting concept.
I’m doing a thing. I want to share it because it feels important and also positive. Today I decided to activate a color makeover on my home. I’m still working on illustrations for my next book (and that is continuing to take considerable time, focus and diligence - as some of you have seen) but I’m taking a short break to invest in this… for myself. Recently, something magical happened to me. While ineffable to me and perhaps imperceptible to others, I feel as though I’ve had a personal rebirth. Something in my soul, my spirit and my core essence that felt absent, malnourished or perhaps mismanaged for quite some time was returned to me.
A year ago, without saying much about it to anyone, I quietly returned to the daily practice of meditation… a practice that I had begun (and one which changed the entire course of my life) in the late 1990s with a wonderful teacher I was introduced to on the Upper West Side of Manhattan named Matthew. Quick Backstory… I was working in the admissions office at Parsons School Of Design, traveling a lot for work and doing artwork. I was living in Brooklyn and doing all the things a guy like me did at age 25 in 1990s NYC. I was immersed in that life, but hadn’t quite taken my most empowered form and at times my aura reflected that. Matthew was a no nonsense, straight shooting, lumberjack looking meditation teacher, energy healer and a psychic. Strange combination, I know. No white robes, no flowery jargon and no psychobabble.
When we had our introductory meeting prior to the meditation course, he looked right into (and through) me and said, “Your last lifetime was during the 1950s. That’s why you love the 1950s so much. You missed the 1960s and you’re reclaiming it with your tastes and tendencies. You’ve had a lot of sadness, survived abuse and as a result, you lack confidence. To overcompensate, you work 50 percent harder than you need to on everything. You deserve more. You were put here to be a good person. Your home is important to you and you will have a beautiful home someday that you worked hard for. You are a great artist and you are going to be a great teacher someday.” That’s when my jaw met the floor and that’s also how I started meditating.
Within two years, the bridge of incidence that meditation layed out for me directed me to my current job as a high school art teacher, led me to many new and fulfilling relationships, uncovered a world of rich experiences, unlocked the creativity that would inform my best artwork and shortly thereafter place me in the home which I love and am about to repaint. As I reengaged in my meditation journey over the last year, I remembered not only the mechanics of Matthew’s teachings and put those practices to use but also that shockingly perceptive (and prescient) reading that tunneled right into the cellular fabric of my 25 year old self. A few weeks ago, somebody asked me “How did you become yourself?” I told them I decided who I wanted to be, meditated on it and went out and did the work. In truth, I had to pick “the work” back up again, but I’m still doing the work. It took about a year, as I said, but an energetic cord that had faltered within me has definitely found its direct current again. I’ve still got more work ahead of me, but for now I’m going to work in brilliant living color… for myself. I think I earned it.
original negatives (purchased on eBay) of Andy Williams on set
and behind the scenes of The Andy Williams Show in 1962.
I like the candid, unstudied nature of the BTS shots and the
small details in the office, such as the rack of 7" 45 RPM singles.
8 July 2026
Today revealed yet another unexpected gift for me. I had an afternoon of errands and booked a haircut. I was met by Iris and Alanys, two delightful young ladies that I always enjoy talking to about our families and current events as I get fresh fades and cuts. Today, for some reason, when I sat down for my haircut, the energy in the salon felt brighter and more elevated than usual and I pointed this out to them. They both looked at me and said “It’s you! You brought it! You always bring it!” To say I was honored and humbled would be an understatement and I told them so, adding “I always love seeing you two and I’m just grateful. I remember how it was six years ago when we couldn’t get haircuts for five months and I decided I would never take a haircut for granted again.” The rest of the conversation was about gratitude. Each of these ladies told me a list of things they were grateful for… everything from the ability to see, walk, hear and taste food to having a job, a home, a car, and a family. I told them I was grateful to simply be alive, adding this: “If anyone ever tries to make me feel old I just tell them that I know a lot of people who never made it to my age and would have liked to. I don’t feel guilty and I definitely don’t feel ashamed about it. I’m grateful.” I asked these two beauties to take a photo with me to mark this moment of shared conversation, collective energies, gratitude and light and they kindly obliged. I’m grateful that I stopped into the salon today, grateful to have had such wonderful conversation and sentiments shared with me and (in keeping with what has become a recurring theme) absolutely humbled by the beautiful and unexpected gifts and experiences that somehow keep appearing along my day to day pathways. Experiences like these aren’t limited to temples, churches, ashrams or shrines. They can indeed reveal themselves to you at a Supercuts in the suburbs. Today was a nice reminder that if you keep shining your light, in time, those glimmers from the universe will be reflected back at you. I’m wishing everyone out there all of this and more. Stay illuminated.
This is a special moment. On June 17, 1950 my grandparents (Nanny and Pop, who helped raise me) exchanged rings and vows. They are pictured above with my Mom in 1952. Pop’s wedding ring stayed on his left ring finger every day from that date until one day in 1999 and I witnessed this. At the time, Pop was in the end stages of liver cancer. My family and I spent his final months with him as he prepared to transition. Ever the brave soul, he understood the gravity of the situation but never complained. One afternoon I made soup for he and I and handed him a box of Oysterette crackers. He reached his hand in, dumped some of the tiny hexagonal crackers into his soup and handed the box back to me. I did the same and sat down to eat. With my first spoonful of soup, I noticed something shiny in the mix. His wedding ring had slipped off his finger into the cracker box due to weight loss and I had unwittingly retrieved it. When I picked the ring out of my soup, he looked downward and exhaled slowly. Without a word, I could see his sadness, so I joked “Pop, look! It’s like Cracker Jack! I won the grand prize!” This made him laugh and I quickly washed the ring and slipped it back on his finger. Lunch proceeded as normal. After Pop died in October 1999, the ring was worn on a chain around Nanny’s neck until her passing in 2007. Shortly thereafter, it was given to me by my Mom and her siblings. I kept the ring in a jewelry box for nearly 19 years. Last week, all in a moment, I finally decided to have it resized to fit my right ring finger because it’s the hand I draw, paint and write with. It serves as a talisman imbibed with the love and collective energies of both Nanny and Pop that can be with me as I do my work. Many thanks to the wonderfully kind and professional staff at Henry’s Fine Jewelry for treating this small but precious artifact (and me) with such care. Thank you as always to Nanny and Pop for the love you gave ALL of us (and specifically to me). Thank you both for continuing to be present in my life, my awareness and all I do from across the universe. Say hello to everyone else in The Light for me. Love you all. XO - CDM (aka Skeezix or Squeedunk).
And now into the paint...
Pop is with me as I work...
Artwork will go onto walls once all rooms are painted. I am taking the time to reconsider what will go where and measure out each screw, drywall anchor or nail. Onto the hallways next! That should be job and a half. More to follow. Can you smell the paint fumes through these photos?
